


Alpha Reign

by DayStar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayStar/pseuds/DayStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a young child when he first sees the Royal Alphas. But the bright day is marred by fire and death and, years later, the last thing he expects is Prince Derek Hale to show up in his town again and demand help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alpha Reign

**Author's Note:**

> God, I suck at summaries. Yeah, sorry about that. But a medieval fic, yay. I think I'm going to be developing a lot of relationships, but it's going to be mainly Derek/Stiles and the tags and rating are subject to change. Comments and whatnot welcome! This is gonna be a long haul project, so grab some snacks and a body bag or two, just to be prepared.

Smoke and ash and the faintest hint of terror. The scents drift through space, invading the air of his room even though the rickety door is shut and a piece of cloth fixed across the gaping hole that passes as a window. Well, he isn't surprised. It's always way too easy to smell things, especially when he's wound up. Wound up. Understatement. Stiles snorts into his hands, cupped over his mouth and nose to try to filter out the scorched stench.

The sounds are pretty bad, too. There's screaming - weak, weaker than the smells - and a great roaring, as if the giants from his mom's fairytales have invaded their village. His heart is thumping so loudly, though, that it's hard to hear much over it. He thinks that maybe he should be happy about that, but Stiles isn't going to be happy about anything until his parents get home. They'd told him to stay put when the alarm bell had rung, and then shut the door and left. He'd tried to follow them, but it's not like they hadn't been dealing with him for eight years already. They'd barred the door. He's too short to get out the window.

Stiles isn't really sure what's going on. He doesn't understand how a fun, exciting day could come to this. Closing his tawny eyes, the young boy leans his head back and pictures earlier this day.

_He and his mum go to watch the arrival of Queen Alpha Hale, along with some of her family. And the Wardens, of course. It's the Triennial Tour, and he's really excited; he doesn't remember the last one, and his dad said they gave out candy during the parade! His dad won't be there - he's on duty - but a lot of other Omegas are going.  Everyone lines up near the village's only main road, and at first it looks like they'll have to watch near the back, but an older man who smells like leather lets them go in front of him. While his mom thanks him, Stiles sits at her feet and fidgets, craning his neck to try and see if anyone is coming. He loses interest pretty quickly, starts playing with the rocks his restless hands find._

_Stiles doesn't see the cloud of dust that announces their arrival. He does hear the short thud of hooves hitting the dirt road, and soon after, a muted murmur of voices. Jumping to his feet so quickly he almost falls over again, he's steadied by his mother's gentle hand on his shoulder. Flashing her a grateful smile, he turns his attention back to the path. Their entrance is every bit as spectacular as he could have hoped._

_Six Wardens come into view first. They are not as impressive as their horses. Stiles has only seen a few horses before - unless they're really well trained, they get spooked by the scent of werewolves - and these ones put the other equines to shame. All six a chestnut brown, they step smartly past the ogling Omegas, completely ignoring them. They're all outfitted in shining buckles and smooth saddles and the colours of the Hales', gold and black. The Wardens are dressed in the same hues as their horses, and they sit rigidly and don't look around at all. Stiles doesn't like them much._

_Royalty comes next, and a small giggle bursts, unanticipated, from his lips. He can't help it. Attention flitting from the horses, he stares - like everyone else - at the males and females sitting atop their mounts. They're almost as stiff as their guardians, and he doesn't find the armour and dresses they're wearing enchanting. They look ridiculous. Even he knows that no one attacks a slow place like this, and there aren't any places to dance here! Well, maybe the Rigwell barn would be big enough, but it's a bit old and dirty and pigs live there in the winter, so it smells as well, and..._

_He pulls his thoughts back to the procession - or, more specifically, his mom does, by lightly squeezing his shoulder - and tries to focus on the people moving passed them now. His mother leans down, whispers in his ear, "Try and pay attention, honey. That's Queen Alpha Hale." She points to a middle aged woman who's one of the only ones in the group that's cheerful. The Queen Alpha is what Stiles imagined she'd be; regal in a black, gold trimmed dress, but warm too, sharing gentle smiles and crisp waves with the Omegas who left important tasks just to see her. And - and! - she's throwing candy! Well not her, but a bright looking, young girl riding at her side reaches into a basket and tosses candy whenever she sees a child. She's smiling too._

_His mother continues. "The small girl, with the dark hair, is Princess Alpha Cora. I don't think Princess Laura is here. Duke Peter is -" but Stiles doesn't much care about the carefully groomed, smirking man his mom points to, because Princess Cora has seen him, and she's throwing him some pieces! They land on the ground, and get a bit of grit on them, but he doesn't care much about that. Wiping the dirt off impatiently, the eight year old stuffs the candy into his mouth until his cheeks are bulging like a chipmunk. The princess laughs, says something to the queen, who grins more broadly and shares a look with Stiles' mother over his head. For his part, he's too busy gobbling up the candy - which is essentially sugar covered dough, lightly baked - to notice much. The sweets are the best thing he's ever tasted, and Stiles is completely content with how this parade has turned out._

_And then the two royals are gone, replaced by a tall black horse ridden by a diminutively small figure, a boy who couldn't be too much older than Stiles. His mother must know he's not paying all that much attention, but she continues patiently. "The last one is Prince Derek. He's - Stiles, sweetie, save some for later." She captures the remaining pieces of candy from Stiles' sticky hands, and he lets them go reluctantly, though as the last one is about to leave his fingers he automatically twitches in protest._

_The candy flies away from both of them and lands in the road, and he lunges after it, a small cry of complaint rising from his throat. He doesn't notice that the Prince wasn't controlling his horse very well, doesn't notice the way it starts and rears up a little when he darts in front of it. He does hear the high whinny, but his eyes are fixed on the treat, and it doesn't really matter anyways..._

_He doesn't see the way the horse lashes out automatically with its front hooves, or how only a last second yank on the reins by  the Prince, his face bleached of color, makes the mount rear higher and just miss Stiles' head. By the time he's grabbed the candy and is able to really see anything else, Stiles notices that everything has stopped. And he really does mean everything. The whole parade has halted. No one lining the street is moving, as far as he can see._

_And then suddenly it seems like everyone is moving._

_Claudia lunges from her horrified, frozen stance and pulls him to the side of the road even as the crowd draws away from them and the Prince dismounts, landing with a grace that belies the distance he had to jump. Someone - a noble - screams, a completely useless, delayed reaction. Stiles flinches, and he flinches again when the Alpha Prince storms up, smelling of horse and dust and fury. Claudia draws Stiles into her arms, and for once the eight year old snuggles back willingly, his tawny eyes flicking up to the older boy's pale face and back to his feet every few seconds._

_"You stupid -" And the boy might have said more, except Queen Alpha Hale is there, her eyes not so soft as before. But she doesn't smell angry, and anyways, she doesn't address the Omegas._

_"Derek." The Queen Alpha's voice isn't harsh - it isn't even hard - but there's something in it that makes the Prince flush and drop his eyes to his feet, a mirror image. Stiles can't look away as Queen Hale continues in that same  even tone. "It was clearly an accident. You should have had your horse under control; I told you how it would be in the crowds."_

_"Sorry." The apology is hard, and angry, and the Prince casts a sullen glance Stiles' way before dismounting without another word._

_And as though nothing had happened, the Queen smiles again at Claudia and returns to her horse. And just like that, the procession is on its way again, and Stiles quietly slips the candy into his mouth and watches the rest of the parade a little bit more subdued than before. And it's fun, and ends well, and he goes home with only a few sharp words from his mother. And that was supposed to be that. But it wasn't._

So he sits, knees pulled up to his chest, and waits. It's dark in the room; he's too old to need a candle, even if it is night time. He isn't afraid of the dark. Really. His dad told him there's nothing to be afraid of, and Stiles trusts his dad.

"I hope..." The wish dies out in his throat. _I don't need to hope,_ Stiles tries to tell himself firmly, pulling his frayed shirt more tightly around his hunched shoulders. _Dad promised they'd be back soon._ Of course, 'soon' for an eight year old is vastly different to an adult, and his parents don't get back soon by anyone's definition. He sits tense and quiet for hours, and the screams and smoke slowly fade away, and his eyelids get heavier, and despite his very best efforts, eventually he falls to the weariness...

And wakes to a heavy, calloused hand gripping his shoulder too hard for comfort and shaking him. Stiles is fully conscious immediately - he's never woken up in a sleepy haze - and stares at his father's weathered, tired face with a stomach that's roiling in protest. It takes a moment to realize what's wrong. Usually his dad smells like sweat and steel, a comforting, familiar combination, and that smell is still there. But it's accompanied by the stench of ash and blood and grief, and his father's face is so tight Stiles holds his breath just in case a small puff makes the captain shatter.

There are other people crowded into the small room. One of the Wardens who was at the parade, and two of his father's guardsmen, and Mr. Whittemore, the town mayor. They all look the same; dirty, tired, solemn and somewhat uncomfortable. The Warden especially shifts a lot, and when Stiles stands up at his father's wordless urging, the Beta removes himself from the room. Everyone else follows, and Stiles finds himself sat down at their kitchen table and handed a drink that's lukewarm and not very tasty.

He sets it aside. It's very quiet inside, though there's some faint wailing coming from outside. The captain sits - no, slumps - at the head of the table, his head in his hands. Mr. Whittemore reaches out hesitantly, pauses, withdraws his hand before it makes contact with anything. The roiling in Stiles' stomach has stopped, but it's as though everything has squished itself into a tight, hard ball, right in the center of his stomach.

He's almost afraid to say anything. "Dad?" The quiet question makes everyone jump - like they've forgotten he's there - and the captain doesn't look up. Stiles hesitates, then persists. "Hey dad? What's - what's going on?" He feels so lost, like everyone else is holding onto the ground and he's floating because he didn't grab on soon enough.

It's the mayor who answers. "Stiles, bad men attacked the town." The Warden shifts slightly again when he hears the name, and casts a glance at the unmoved captain Stilinski. Mr. Whittemore heavily continues. "The men set fire to the inn where the Royal Alphas were staying, and to the stables, and to..." He trails off, his eyes flicking to the door like he can just imagine fire rising up there, too.

Stiles' heart is hammering like it wants him to open his chest, and he grabs the mug and holds it tight to stop his trembling. He doesn't want to seem like a scaredy-cat. "We beat them though, right? Scared them away?" He throws the words out because he doesn't know what else to say. Why is everyone looking so sad if they won? Why has his dad began to cry into his hands, soft, muffled sobs that can be heard by everyone in the room?

The young boy slips out of his chair when no one answers, stands by his father. He sets his hands around one of the captain's - it's large enough that he can barely manage it - and leans against his father's trembling frame. "Dad?" he whispers, and the question catches in his throat and rips at it before he can continue. "Where's mom?"

No one actually tells him that she's gone. But Stiles has found, suddenly and unpleasantly, that silence can be an eloquent answer, and he tugs more insistently at his dad's hand. "Where is she? Is she - she's helping with the fire, right? She's coming home soon? Dad?" The last words break apart, shatter into a small little pieces, and the pieces escape and start dripping down his cheeks, and suddenly, not even entirely understanding, Stiles starts to cry too.

And though Stiles will never know the effort it costs him, captain Stilinski heaves in a deep, desperate breath, stops his own tears. He straightens, envelops Stiles in a warm, shaky hug with one arm and gently stokes his head with the other. "It's okay," he murmurs, even though it isn't, even though it won't ever be again. "It's okay."

There are some more words after that, mainly from the Warden and Mr. Whittemore, about brave sacrifice and honor and a position with the Wardens, but Stiles hardly hears them, and he certainly doesn't understand them. He sinks into his father's embrace, trying to find something to fill up the emptiness that's rapidly claiming his chest, and cries until he falls into an exhausted sleep.     


End file.
